Benediction
by Vague Apparitions
Summary: One-shot. Frederich Issak Showenhower has been in jail for four years. Four years of jail. Four years of solitude. Four years of resentment growing within him — resentment for the prison, resentment for the Guys in White… And, most of all, resentment for Danny Phantom. When Freakshow escapes, Danny suffers the consequences of his enemy's hatred.


**Author's Notes: **I_ saw this picture and immediately decided to write this up for the alternate theme for Day 13 of Phanniemay: blood blossoms. I should mention that this is really dark and might make a lot of people uncomfortable. So, consider yourselves warned._

* * *

**"Benediction"**  
**A One-shot**

It had been too long since Frederich felt crisp air of a winter's night in his lungs. It felt as if his lungs were filled with ice, as if the frost spread throughout his chest, freezing all in its path.

It would have frozen his heart, if it wasn't already frozen.

He had been in jail for months before breaking out the first time; it had been much more difficult to leave this time, and had taken four painfully long years. Four years of jail. Four years of solitude. Four years of resentment growing within him — resentment for the prison, resentment for the Guys in White…

And, most of all, resentment for Danny Phantom. A goody-goody little _ghost_ who thought himself the hero. It made Frederich sick. He hated him more than anyone he had ever hated, and with good reason; Phantom had ruined his life, had turned Frederich from the dynamic ringmaster of Circus Gothica, Freakshow, into a broken man. He had taken away the circus and the ghost-controlling staff. He had put Frederich in jail twice. He had been — albeit indirectly — responsible for the dead woman Frederich loved being captured and detained; the man had to leave without her this time, but he would go back for her, when he could. And Frederich would tell Lydia all about how he got his revenge, in the greatest detail.

She would be proud — so very proud.

* * *

It was several nights after Freakshow had escaped from jail again, and Danny was on patrol, looking for him. He knew that fighting Freakshow was never exactly easy; the convict was too intelligent, too cunning. He had always seemed to be several steps in front of Danny and this encounter would be no exception. It was concerning, especially given the amount of time he'd been loose. Danny knew his weakness, though; maybe he could use Freakshow's own psychology against him again, somehow…

A ringtone. _His_ ringtone. Danny let out an annoyed sigh, stopping his flight, and took out his cell phone from the clip on his jumpsuit's belt. The caller ID didn't register a number, but he answered, anyway. After all, he didn't give his number out to just anyone; it _had_ to be someone he knew.

"Hello, _ghost._ It's been a while," said the familiar voice coming through Danny's speaker.

"Freakshow! H-how did you… ?"

"Get your number?" Freakshow replied, finishing the question. "I wouldn't mind that, if I were you. You have bigger problems — like finding me, for instance."

"What!?" Danny asked, beginning to panic that he was too late, and that Freakshow had already done something horrible. "What did you do? Do you have someone hostage? What do you want?"

"I want you," Freakshow said, "to find me. To make the task easier, I'll tell you where I am. The Cathedral of Saint Michael. You will come alone."

"And if I don't?"

"Oh, I'm not at liberty to say."

"You're bluffing."

"Would you really take that risk — _hero?_"

"Fine," Danny said. "I'll come."

"Joy. Ta-ta."

Silence. A buzztone. Danny looked at the phone for a moment, as if a number would magically appear, but it didn't. He glanced at the time. 2:47 am. Danny took a deep breath and shut his phone before putting it back in its place on his belt. For some reason, he still felt rattled, but… He could do this. As he flew he told himself that he could. He always did, didn't he?

He was at the cathedral by three in the morning. Not knowing what sort of leverage Freakshow might have and not wanting to anger him more, Danny tried the door first. It was locked. _Through_ the door it was, then; at least he'd tried.

At first, the cathedral seemed empty, but the candles at the altar were lit, illuminating some of the space with flickering light. The space seemed cavernous, with its high, arched ceilings, its stone walls, its tendency to make every slight sound reverberate within the darkness. Danny couldn't see Freakshow as he approached the altar — walking, not floating. The unseeing eyes of the saints were on him as he passed down the aisle, watching him from the walls and windows, from stained glass and paintings and marble and wood. Danny stood before the altar. Apart from the lit candles, nothing seemed to be disturbed.

"Isn't this a grand space?" said Freakshow, from the back of the church. Danny gasped and turned sharply, ready to fight, his hands aglow with ectoplasmic energy. Freakshow looked as if four years had been six or eight. He wore the same outfit he had worn before, but it was battered and torn with age and wear. His hands were behind his back; if he had managed to escape prison and make it this far while still cuffed, Danny would be quite impressed, despite himself.

"I wouldn't lose myself so easily if I were you," Freakshow continued, scowling as he slowly walked toward the altar. "Remember, we are meeting on _my_ conditions."

Danny's hands stopped glowing, but he didn't completely lose his guard. "Alright. You've got fifteen minutes to tell me what you did and what I've got to do."

"You're in no place to be threatening me," said Freakshow. "You will do as I tell you to do, and you will _obey_. Now, you will _listen and watch the show_. I don't want to hear a word from you. Understood_?_"

Danny nodded, not saying a word, as instructed. He looked around, still, for any sort of indication of what Freakshow had done; maybe a hostage was hidden somewhere. He was still tense, ready to jump into action at a moment's notice.

"Joy!" Freakshow said, completely changing his tone almost immediately and smiling a cruel smile. "Yes, now, look around. Do you see where you are? Do you see this place? It's filled with golden things and beautiful art, isn't it? And the architecture… It's so _dramatic_. So… _gothic_. I don't expect you to appreciate it but, as a showman, I _adore_ drama! Oh, but if you look past the beauty, there is pain. Suffering. Torture. Death. Despair.

"That is what happens to many who want to be saints, _ghost_. They become martyrs."

A pause.

"And you'll soon join them," Freakshow said, his yellowed grin widening, as he quickly removed his hands from behind his back. In his grasp was a wreath of blood blossoms, which he placed on Danny's head as if the hybrid was some statue of a venerated saint. The motion was so sudden that Danny scarcely had any time to react and, before he knew it, he was on his knees, screaming in pain. The ringmaster let out a wild laugh. "Aha! Did you know that martyrdoms used to be a public spectacle? But this is a private show — _just for me!_ I have to say, I'm enjoying it immensely."

Danny tried to remove the flowers from his head, but Freakshow grabbed his wrists and pulled them back violently, securing them with his old handcuffs, which he pulled from his pocket. "Oh," he said, pulling a handful of excess flowers from his pocket and sprinkling them in a circle around Danny, "I've missed a few."

The crown of flowers began to singe Danny's flesh, and his ectoplasm ran down his face and neck, dripping onto the floor like candle wax. Some of it mixed with his tears, and ran in sheer streaks of green down his face. Kneeling at the altar, his head lowered, he could barely breathe, could barely see, could barely feel anything but the intense pain of the blood blossoms seeping through his entire body…

"If it consoles you," said Freakshow, sounding rather pleased with himself, "I didn't have a victim here. Except you, of course. But you're not _really_ a victim, are you? You get what you deserve."

Danny looked upward, just for a moment, at the high ceiling of the cathedral — looking up toward painted Heaven, blurry through his tears and pain, and dimly lit by candlelight.

As if the candles had gone out, Danny's vision was plunged into blackness, and he felt no more.


End file.
